Family Feud
by Karsen Lavette
Summary: While the Circle grows more interested in Cammie Morgan, one person is forced to make a decision. Does blood really run thicker than water? Zach's POV for GG3 - sequel to "When I First Met Her"
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, all! Here it is - the first chapter of my next story. I took your advice and am writing the rest of the series in Zach's point-of-view. Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!**

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I don't remember a time when I didn't know about the Circle. As far back as I can remember, I've always known what the Circle is, what it stands for. I can't remember a time when I ever wanted to be with them, either. Every year from the time I turned eleven I would receive a letter, the stamps on the envelope foreign, stating that the Circle of Cavan would be _honored _if I joined them. Every year my mother would hand me the envelope as she looked through the mail, her eyes bright. "This could be the year, Zach," she would say. "Come on," she would urge as I opened the envelope, knowing what was in it. "Make your mom proud." Each year I would come up with a new excuse as to why I didn't join – I was too young, I felt I was too inexperienced, I wanted to focus on my studies, et cetera. But last summer I had had it. At the end of June, just like every year, my mother walked in one day, mail in hand, and handed me the envelope. "We could really use you, Zachary," she said, her eyes pleading with me.

I looked down at the envelope. The paper seemed to burn my fingers. "No." I said.

She looked taken back, shocked, almost. "What?"

I looked into her eyes. "I said no. I'm not joining." Rage filled her face, but I didn't stop. "Every year, you tell me how much _I _could help the Circle, how useful _I _would be. How could they help me?"

She put a hand on my shoulder. "Zachary, listen to me." Her voice was hard, her grip firm. "I know you're confused, and I'm sure your little trip to Gallagher didn't help matters." She paused, like she knew what she wanted to say but wasn't sure if she was actually going to say it or not. "But trust me. The Circle has plans…" she trailed off, and her gaze shifted from me to the window. She studied the horizon. "The Circle has plans, Zach, and you could really help with them. Now more than ever, you would be such an amazing help…"

"Why now?" I asked. "What's so important that you need _me _to help you, and why right now?"

Her hand moved to my face, and she stroked my cheek. "Zach, my baby," she whispered. "You're so much like your father."

I froze. Never before had she volunteered information about my dad. I had no idea who he even was. I never got birthday cards, or phone calls on Christmas. I didn't even know his name. "Tell me about him?" I whispered.

She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. "Maybe someday," she said, and her eyes became distant.

"Why now, Mom?" She studied me. I hated it when she looked at me like that, when she looked like she _loved _me. I hated her. I didn't want her to care about me at all. I wanted to forget she even had a son, but she couldn't.

"Come here," she said, going into her room and taking out a large binder. On the front, in big, bold letters, were the words MATTHEW MORGAN. She opened the binder, and the first picture made my stomach churn. Cammie. "This is why," she said, her voice low. "She has information, Zach." I reached out, brushed my fingers across the page. She looked at me, but I kept my gaze locked on the picture. "Information that we _need_." She reached out, moved my face so I was looking at her. "And you could help us get it. Do you understand?"

I thought of all the times since we left Gallagher I had sat down with paper and a pencil, or picked up the phone, in attempt to contact Cammie Morgan. I tried, but could never force myself to write or dial. I needed to protect her, and couldn't do that if I kept in contact with her. I needed to stay as far away from that girl as possible. "Zach?" My mother's voice snapped me back to the present. "The Circle _needs _your help, Zach," she pleaded.

I turned and ran. My mother called for me to stop, but I kept running. Finally I stopped at a payphone. I pulled a couple of quarters out of my pocket and dialed. It seemed to ring forever, but finally someone answered it. "Joe?" I asked, trying to regain my breath. "I think we need to talk. Can you pick me up?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I didn't mean to update twice today, but I realized that I forgot to give credit where credit is due. I am truly, truly sorry, Ally Carter. You own the Gallagher Girls (and Zach - I'm so jealous).**

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"So let me get this straight," Joe said, then took a drink of coffee. "You think that Cammie is going to be a target?"

"She already is a target," I told him. "Joe, trust me. I saw it. I don't know what they're planning, but Cammie is part of it. I think…" I trailed off, not wanting to say what I believed to be true. "I think she's in danger. My mom kept saying that she had information."

Joe sighed. "Are you sure, Zach? She could have been feeding you false information to see what you did with it."

My shoulders dropped. "I know," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "but rather safe than sorry, right?"

He nodded. "So what are you going to do now?" I could tell he didn't want me going back to my mother's place.

I shrugged. "Head back to Blackthorne, I guess," I said. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about that. My main focus was Cammie.

"That's probably a good idea," he said. He smiled. "Thank you, Zach." He put his hand on my shoulder. "You have no idea how much this means to a lot of people."

I looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?" I asked.

He shook his head again. "You know, for having a genius IQ, you sure have a tendency to be really dumb."  
I tried to look insulted. "What? Dumb? Me? Never."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Zach, but drama doesn't suit you, so don't try it." He laughed. "I mean what you're doing. Not following in your mother's footsteps. Deciding to be the 'good guy.' Me, Rachel, Abby," he notices my confused expression. "Abigail Cameron? Rachel's sister?" Oh. Her. And I thought she hates me. In fact, I'm still sure she hates me, even if it's just a little bit. Joe continued. "Especially if what you say about Cammie is true, you could really help us." Now _that_ sounded familiar. Joe must have realized that I had heard the same song before, different verse. "Even better, you could help her."

"I know," I told him. "And I will. Help, that is. I know it's risky," I said before Joe could interrupt, "but I _don't _want people to see my mother when they look at me."

Joe smiled. "I'm so proud of you, Zach." I swelled with pride. Is this what it's like? Having a father? He put an arm around my shoulders. "Now you'd better get out of here. If anyone finds out you met me…" he trailed off, not needing to finish.

"See you around, Joe," I told him. He winked, then disappeared into the crowded street.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, again! This chapter is super short, and I am so, so sorry for that, but I promise, scout's honor (even though I'm not a scout, my friend is, so that should count, right) that next chapter will be longer. Thanks for reading! Also, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited - you guys are great!**

**-Karsen**

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I felt lousy about lying to Joe, but I couldn't tell him that I was going back to my mom's. He would have had a fit. As I walked down the familiar street towards the apartment I had grown up in, Joe's words kept playing over and over in my mind. _I'm so proud of you. I'm so proud of you. _I shook my head as I opened the door to the building I had once called home, had once felt safe. My mother was in the kitchen when I entered, singing as she threw different ingredients into a pot on the stove. Something smelled amazing. She looked over at me, and the song stopped.

"Zachary," she said, and I couldn't tell if she was upset or not. "Come to your senses yet?"

I shrugged. "Depends on what you mean," I said.

She glared at me. "Zach, I'm done playing games. The Circle has waited for your answer long enough."

"Didn't I give you an answer earlier today?" I quipped.

She looked at me like I had struck her, but her face quickly changed to… sympathy? Compassion? Maybe even love? Her hand came up to my cheek. "Okay, Zach. How about this? You don't give me an answer. Not yet, anyways. You follow me on this mission, and then I'm sure you'll have your answer. Okay? Wait it out?"

I was sure I'd have my answer too, and it wasn't what she expected. I opened my mouth to protest when my conversation with Joe came back to mind. _You could help her. _I slowly nodded. I could help Cammie. "Okay," I said.

My mother's eyes lit up. "Okay?" she asked, as if she couldn't believe I had consented.

"Yeah," I said, licking my lips. "I'll follow you. See how I like it." _Get information. Protect Cammie. _I mentally added.

She kissed me on the cheek. "That's my boy. Now come on," she said, pointing to the cupboards. "Set the table, please, and we'll eat."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi again! Here's chapter 4! I (sadly) do not own the Gallagher Girls, nor do I own the Green Bay Packers. :( Enjoy!**

**-Karsen**

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"You trust him?" There was no mistaking the anger dripping from the English accent.

My mother cringed. "Please, sir," she pleaded. "Not so loud. You'll wake him."

"I don't bloody care if I wake him!" The man roared. "Catherine, have you lost your mind? The boy was in a relationship with our target."

I held my breath, praying that they wouldn't hear me. "I know, sir, but you know what young love is like. As far as I know, he hasn't contacted her, nor she him. I'm sure they're already over each other." My blood began to boil. "Besides," she continued, and I could hear the smirk in her voice. "My Zach is _much _too handsome for the Morgan girl." The man laughed uncertainly, while I felt my face go red.

"Catherine, I'm still not sure," he said.

"Please, sir," she said, the humor gone from her voice. "You know as well as I that Zachary could be something of an asset to the Circle."

"Something?" The man scoffed. "He'd be bloody brilliant. I just don't know if he can be trusted."

"I promise, sir," she said. She sounded tired, exhausted. "I will watch him like a hawk." I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

He was silent for a long time, then finally took a deep breath. "Fine, Catherine. Just this once. After all, I owe you one for Egypt."

Oh. _Him. _I knew who she was speaking to. Bryce Enright. There had been a job in Egypt, when someone attempted to bomb the house of an extremely wealthy and extremely popular politic. I remember watching the news reports, seeing the relief on the face of the man when the bomb had been disabled. My mother was furious. The next day she was gone when I woke up, with a note saying she had a "business trip." A week later, all that was left of the man's house was a smoking pile of ashes. The man was never heard from again.

I heard the sofa creak, indicating that Enright had stood up, and was leaving. "Thank you again, sir," my mother gushed. "You won't regret this. I promise you."

"I better not." With that I heard the door slam shut. I sat down, leaning against my bedroom door. My eyes scanned my bedroom. No posters hung on the walls. No sports jerseys were in the closet. The books on my desk weren't _Calvin and Hobbes, _but textbooks – Microbiology, Advanced Anatomy, Nuclear Chemistry, Trigonometry. I reached up, grabbing my one claim to normal-ness I kept on my dresser – a football, signed by Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers. But even that was part of a mission, where we were supposed to switch the official Super Bowl quarter used in the pre-game coin toss with a fake. I sighed, tossing the football on my bed. I sat there the entire night, staring into the darkness. My mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour.

_Cammie. _Just thinking about her made me feel sick. What had I done last semester? Of all the girls at Gallagher, I had to ask Joe to let me tail _her_. He had warned me – I should have listened. Now I was supposed to be part of a mission that was supposed to… supposed to what? Capture her? Torture her? Kill her? I put my head in my hands.

_Mom._ The woman had raised me single-handedly. Even with her involvement with the Circle, when I was little she had somehow always found time to read to me before bed, to take me to my favorite restaurant on my birthday. Those moments had seemed _normal. _But normal boys didn't get sterling silver switchblades for Christmas. Those boys didn't learn how to put together and accurately shoot sixty different guns by the age of seven. Those boys could trust their moms.

I envied those boys.

That morning my mother knocked softly on my bedroom door. "Zach?" she called.

"Yeah, Mom," I called. "Come on in."

She opened the door and sat down gingerly on my bed. "Morning, sunshine," she said, kissing my forehead. "I have some good news!" There was no mistaking the excitement in her voice. "You've been cleared to work the case with us." She hugged me. "Isn't that great?"

Frankly, I could think of about a hundred words to describe that, none of them being _great. _"Yeah," I lied.

Her smile disappeared from her face. "You're not excited."

I took a deep breath. "Mom, I'm going to use little words so that you understand me. I. Don't. Want. To. Join. The. Circle."

She pushed her hair out of her face. "Zachary, this is not up for debate."

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm not debating," I said. " I'm telling you. I'm not joining the Circle."

In the blink of an eye she raised her hand up and struck my face. "Get out."

For a moment, I felt like a little boy again, wanting so hard to please his momma. But just as soon as that moment started, that moment ended. I grabbed my jacket from the bed, then walked out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again, my lovely readers (I'm in a really good mood today). Here is the fifth chapter. I hope you like it! If you have any suggestions on my writing, please let me know. I love getting tips from other writers. :) Also, call me what you will: mundane, unimaginative, dull, but for the life of me I cannot find a good picture to go as the cover of Family Feud. If you can find a good one, I would _greatly _appreciate you sharing it with me. :) **

**Anyways, enjoy this chapter! Sorry it's short!**

**-Karsen**

**P.S. I know I don't have to disclaim this, because I didn't mention any brands, but I feel the need to state that I DO NOT own the rights to math textbooks, nor do I want to. If I ever said "I'm going to write a math textbook" you all have permission to hunt me down and torture me until I come to my senses.**

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Most people wouldn't think twice about a teenage boy sitting in the back of a coffee shop, studying a pre-calc textbook. However, if people were paying close attention, they would have noticed that I _wasn't _studying. If they really looked, they would have seen that the notebook in front of me wasn't filled with numbers, but names. They would have seen that the school ID I had hanging around my neck was a different school than the name printed on the bottom of the pages of the textbook. They would have noticed that I was seated in one of only two blind spots in the little coffee shop.

Luckily, no one was feeling very observant that day, and I went unnoticed. The television mounted on the wall in front of me was on a news station, and much to the dismay of the man sitting at the table next to me, the waitress had misplaced the remote, so he could not watch his favorite game shows. He sat with his legs crossed, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup as if he were trying to draw the warmth out of the beverage and into his body. I wanted to point out that it was over ninety degrees out, but he didn't appear to be in the mood for conversation. Despite his discontent at the channel, his gaze was locked on the TV, taking in every word the news anchor said. I glanced up as she wrapped up the weather report, then looked back down at my notebook. _There has to be a way to protect her, _I thought. Just then the news anchor's words caught my attention.

"… as Macey McHenry and her friend walk the hallway of their hotel, getting a few moments of privacy before heading on to the upcoming campaign rally here in Boston." I looked up and my blood turned to ice. There on the screen was Macey, looking as beautiful as ever, and the friend the news anchor had mentioned. The girl who was used to never being seen, now on the news.

The man next to me took a drink of his coffee, then laughed. "If they think following those girls is considered privacy," he shook his head, trailing off. He glanced over at me, must have noticed the panicked look on my face. "What's the matter, son? You look like you've seen a ghost. Or maybe you're just like my son, who's going crazy for the McHenry girl." He laughed, and I tried to smile.

"Yeah, something like that," I said as I slammed my textbook closed and slipped it into my backpack. _Boston. _The news anchor had said Boston. _Cammie's in Boston. Cammie's here. _"I gotta go," I mumbled as I made my way to the door. I pulled change out of my pocket as I exited the coffee shop, feeding it into the payphone. "Joe," I exclaimed. "She's in Boston."

"I know," Joe said, his voice calm. "We've got eyes on her. She's fine."

"I'm going to be watching her," I said.

Joe sighed. "Be careful, Zach."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "I will," I told him, then hung up. I sighed. If Cammie was in Boston, I _had _to keep an eye on her. Because I was sure my mother would be watching her, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi, guys! I have to apologize for this chapter. I know it's not very good(e) (ha) - I wrote it this morning while watching a _Monk _marathon (ah, the joys of owning all of the seasons on DVD...). Anyways, I promise next chapter will be better. Enjoy!  
-Karsen**

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Few things are quite as terrifying as looking in the mirror and seeing someone in their sixties staring back at you. And yet, as I stared into the glass, I was anything but scared. I smiled. I even laughed at the white hair, the formality of the suit. I was unrecognizable.

And that was exactly what I wanted.

The disguise made me look forty-five years older. There was no way Cammie would notice me. There was no way my mother would notice me. I would be just another face in the crowd, another person they wouldn't think twice about. I thought about Cammie, how she would love a disguise like this (but, obviously, one that made her look like an older woman, not man). As I handed the security guard stationed at the location of the campaign rally my ID, I looked around the large room. The high ceiling was strung with red, white, and blue ribbons. In each corner at least three different news crews were setting up their cameras, no doubt hoping for another glimpse at either the McHenry family or the Winters family. Along the back wall, two body guards flanked three VIPKGs – Very Important Politicians' Kids and Guest. A boy wearing a wristwatch that I swear he got from a cereal box walked two steps behind the girls. I saw the telltale posture of a girl that could only be Macey McHenry, her hand clutching the hand of another girl – Cammie Morgan. I slipped into the underground tunnel they were about to enter. I looked around quickly, making sure the place they were going was safe.

No threats.

I pushed open the door they were entering, accidentally (I swear, it really was an accident) bumping into Cammie.

"Sorry, ma'am," I said, making myself sound as southern as Cammie's little roommate. She glanced at me for a second, then continued into the tunnel. I leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. "So far so good," I whispered. Suddenly my gaze landed on a woman. _Spoke too soon. _She held up her compact, apparently checking her makeup. I shook my head. She had done that so many times. I watched as the security cameras slowly rotated around the room, and just when she was in the blind spot – it was only for two seconds – she slapped her compact shut, and disappeared into the crowd. "No," I whispered, then ran after her. It was no use. I couldn't find her. I slipped into the nearest room, a storage closet. I slammed my hand against the wall. _How could I be so stupid? _I snapped my fingers. The itinerary. I was sure that somehow, my mother had gotten ahold of Macey's itinerary. _If only I knew where she was going next. _The handle on the door turned, and a security guard stepped into my hideout closet.

Confusion was written on his face. "What the—" With one swift kick I knocked him to the ground, out cold. I knelt over him, wrapping my fingers around the cord that traveled from his ear to under his shirt.

"Thank you," I whispered before slipping the comms unit into my ear and slipping out of the closet, closing the door behind me.

"Control," I heard in the comms. "I'm with Peacock and Mad Dog—" of all the names, Winters's kid chose _Mad Dog? _"We're on Level R. Are they filming the video here, or has that been changed?"

My pulse quickened. Confusion was bad. My eyes darted to the stairs. _Level R. _I raced to the stairwell as another man said, "We're checking. One moment, please." I slammed into the door, pushing it open. _Level R. Level R. Level R. _I ran up flight after flight of stairs. "Alpha, get Peacock and Mad Dog and guest out of there. Now!" There was no mistaking the franticness in the man's voice. _Please answer him_, I chanted, hoping "Alpha" would be alright. _Please answer him. Please answer him._ My heart fell as the comms unit was silent. "Alpha, I repeat: get Peacock, Mad Dog, and guest out of there." Still nothing. _No. _I glanced at the sign on the door I had come up to. Painted in black was a large "R." I pushed the door, but it was locked. _Come on, Goode,_ I told myself. _Think. _

I looked to the left, and noticed something I should have seen right away. The wall wasn't even. A three-foot wide section jutted out about two feet. "It looks like a," I said out loud, my mind spinning. "Laundry chute!" I raced back down the stairs, throwing open the next door. There was a cart on wheels filled with linens underneath an opening. "Come on, Cam," I yelled, hoping, _praying, _she would hear me. "Come on, Cammie. Come on, Gallagher Girl. You're smart. Think, Cammie. Think." Suddenly the opening of the chute seemed to glow. "And if it's glowing," I said, not caring that, over the course of the past hour, I had talked to myself more than I had in my entire life before that, "then sunlight is getting in." I could almost hear Grant laughing, saying "way to go, Sherlock."

The next minute there was a loud bang on the side of the chute, as if someone had jumped in. A person fell into the linens. Her arm was swollen and bent at an odd angle, her usually stunning face pale, her hair a total mess. But she was alive. And that made her look gorgeous. "Macey," I whispered, but she was out cold. Another noise from above broke the silence, and another person fell down the chute. My voice caught in my throat as I looked at her. "Cammie," I whispered, leaning towards her. I wanted to take her in my arms, protect her from the world. Her eyes opened, and she looked right at me. A look of recognition swept over her face, then she was out cold.


	7. Chapter 7

**What I wouldn't give to NOT have writer's block. Seriously. I restarted this chapter six times, and it still sounds like I wrote it in my sleep! So, from the bottom of my heart, I am so, so sorry for the terrible chapter.**

**-Karsen**

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The ceiling fan spun on the fastest speed possible, sending a constant current of cold air down on my head. My wrists burned from the countless hours I had spent trying to loosen the cords that bound me mercilessly to the old wooden chair that creaked and groaned in protest each time I shifted my weight. I looked down at the carpet. I had picked that carpet out when I was five. I tried to focus on the carpet, on anything to drown out the screams. She had been screaming for hours. How her throat wasn't raw was beyond me. I tried again to loosen the cords on my wrists, but I knew it was no use. My mother had taught me the very knot she used on me, ones that would guarantee no escapes. Tears stung my eyes. "No," I told myself. "Do not cry. Stay strong. Stay strong for her." Still, the tears spilled onto my cheeks as Cammie continued to scream. Suddenly, the house fell silent.

My mother came into the room. "Hello, Zachary," she said, taking her thumb and wiping away a tear from my cheek. I recoiled at the touch. "Oh, Zachary, it's okay. She won't scream any longer, if that's what bothering you."

My blood boiled. "What did you do to her?" I wanted so bad to grab her, shake her, hit her, anything. But my mother was no idiot – she hadn't untied me.

My mother laughed. "You really do like her, don't you?" She clucked her tongue. "How about this, dear? I'll let you send flowers to the funeral…"

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I jolted awake in a cold sweat. I was instantly on my feet, trying to figure out where I was. _Cammie. She's okay. She's alive. It was just a dream. _I kept telling myself that over and over. The sun was just peeking over the mountain. I looked down at the ground that I had slept on. "Where—" Then I saw it. About three feet to my right, a trip wire. _Joe. _It all came back to me then. _I followed them here. They're okay. They're okay. _I scrambled over the rise, seeing what I knew I was going to find. A cabin. And a dock. And on the dock…

Two girls. Macey, her arm in a sling, looking at the ho

rizon. And Cammie. With a bandage around her head, staring at Macey as if her life depended on it. After a few minutes, they went back into the cabin. I stood up, stretched my arms. _Joe's with her now_, I told myself. _She's safe. _With that thought I walked down the mountain path, away from the cabin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello again, lovely readers! Here's chapter 8! Just wanted to let you know that I will not be able to update for at least a week, as I will be at CAMP! (I'm super stoked - I've never been a camp counselor before).**

**Until then, enjoy this chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed - I love reading what you guys have to say about my writing!**

**-Karsen**

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"So how was your summer, brother?" Grant asked, while counting how many sit-ups I did. "By the way, you're at four-hundred and thirteen."

_Just eighty-seven to go. _"Fine," I grunted. "It was fine."

"Hear from the Morgan girl?" There was no denying the arrogance, the cockiness in his voice.

"Grant, if you don't mind, I'd sorta like to focus on the sit-ups."

He raised an eyebrow. "You used to talk before. You getting out of shape, Goode?"

I glared at him. "Shut up." _Fifty-two to go. _"And if you really need to know, I did see her."

His eyes went wide. "Seriously?" He paused. "I lost count."

"Four-seventy. And yes, I was serious."

He shook his head. "Man, I didn't think you were actually serious about her, you know? I thought you were just playing her."

I stopped, not caring that I still had seventeen sit-ups to go. "How much of a jerk do you think I am?"

He shrugged. "I just thought…" he trailed off.

I went back to my sit-ups. "That was your first mistake – you thought."

He glared at me. "You know, I could tell Dr. Steve that you quit at two-fifty, and he would make you do five-hundred more sit-ups."

I stood up. "Go die in a hole."

He cocked a half-grin. "And then what would you do?"

I rolled my eyes. "Life would be quite dull and rather peaceful."

He punched my shoulder as we headed back to our dorms. "So back to the Morgan girl."

"We were talking about the Morgan girl?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "We were. You saw her? What'd she say? She still madly in love with you?"

I stared at him. "Grant, that was probably the girliest thing you've ever said. But in answer to your question, she didn't exactly," I paused, not sure how I was going to explain my seeing Cammie to him. "She didn't exactly say anything." Grant stared at me with a look of bewilderment. "I saw her, but she didn't see me."

"Oh my gosh. Goode, do you know how creepy that is? What'd you do, go to her grandparents' farm and spy on her?"

I shoved him. "No, of course not." I glanced over my shoulder. "It was…"

He seemed to understand that I wasn't sure who I could trust, who might be listening. "We're almost to our dorm," he volunteered, and I nodded.

Two minutes later (technically, one minute, forty-seven seconds) we were in our dorm, Grant sitting on his bed and me sitting on my own. "Okay, Goode," he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Spill."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Okay. It's like this. Remember when I told you about the Circle?" Grant nodded, his eyes wide. I had only seen him so focused, so quiet, once before, when I told him and Jonas about my mother. "They're after Cammie."

Grant blinked in disbelief. "What?"

I nodded. "She was with the McHenry girl on the campaign trail, and they were ambushed on the roof. Everyone thinks it's McHenry or the Winters kid, but I talked to my mom. She tried to get me to join the Circle again, and showed me their plans." I looked at Grant, hoping my face didn't show how worried I was. "She knows something, Grant. I don't know what, but Cammie knows something that the Circle wants."

Grant shook his head. "So what're you going to do?" He asked.

I took a deep breath. "Protect her."


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, all! Here's the next chapter. But before you read it, I need to ask a favor.**

**A week ago Saturday, I got some bad news - a classmate of mine was in a one-vehicle car accident and died. I'm not going to say any names, but would you keep the small-town farming family of my classmate in your prayers?**

**Thank you so much. God bless!  
-Karsen**

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"Now America waits for its first glimpse of Macey McHenry, the brave young woman who has so recently been thrust into the spotlight – and into danger." Jonas laughed nervously as he stared at his laptop screen.

"And I'm sure this is exactly what she wants – more attention." His gaze shifted to me. "Does Cammie know…" He trailed off.

"That she's the target, and not Macey?" I asked, and Jonas nodded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No. At least, not that I know of." I looked back to the computer screen, at the live news feed, where a tall woman gripped a microphone in one hand as she paced back and forth in front of a large gate guarding an equally large mansion.

"And here we are," she said. Her voice was scratchy, sounding like she was getting over a cold. "Outside the gates of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, where one exceptional young woman will be returning shortly, after the most traumatic incident of her life. And the question remains:" she paused for effect, squinting into the camera. "Will these walls be enough to keep Macey McHenry safe?"

At her words, Jonas, Grant, and I burst out laughing. "If only she knew," Grant said, shaking his head.

Jonas grabbed the mouse, and with a couple clicks he pulled up the blueprints for Gallagher Academy. "Well, let's see," he said, studying the layout of the building. "There are only seven security cameras covering this section here," he pointed to one part of the grounds. "Oh, and those automatic rifles right here?" He gestured to another section of the grounds. "If the wind is over forty miles an hour blowing due south, the bullets can be thrown off by as much as three degrees." He paused, widening his eyes and looking at Grant and I with a serious expression on his face. "And don't get me started on how the heat seeking missiles can be thrown off if someone brings a battery-operated curling iron with them."

Grant's eyes widened in mock horror. "Oh no," he whispered, putting his head in his hands. "Those girls are doomed."

"Go back to the news, Jonas," I said, putting my hands in my pockets. He clicked back on the news feed. The woman was still talking about the greatness of Macey McHenry, the terrible-ness of the whole situation, and how "surreal, terrifying, and unexpected this must be for the Gallagher Academy faculty." Suddenly a faint beep was heard, and at the bottom, right hand corner of the screen, a small alert bubble came up. "What's that?" I asked, as the words "CIA UPDATE" flashed in the bubble.

Jonas took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt, something he often did when he was on the verge of something big.

Grant arched an eyebrow and looked at me. "The red dog howls at midnight," he said, and I laughed. Whenever Jonas was on the verge of something big (so, pretty much, whenever we saw him clean his glasses,) Grant or I would announce that "the red dog howls at midnight." Don't ask me how or why we started that; it's just something that we've always done.

Jonas clicked on the flashing bubble, and a female face filled the screen. Grant let out a low whistle. "She's a hottie," he said, then paused. "You know," he continued, "she sort of looks like-"

"Cammie," I said, unable to take my gaze off the woman's picture.

"Nooo," Grant said slowly, "I was going to say Emma Stone."

Jonas scrolled down, revealing the name AGENT ABIGAIL CAMERON underneath the picture. "Cameron?" Jonas asked. "Isn't that-"

"Rachel Morgan's maiden name?" Grant finished. "Dude, the hot headmistress has a hot sister."

I punched his arm. "She looks like Cammie." I repeated.

"Shh," Jonas waved his hand and leaned forward, his face just inches from the computer screen. "Agent Abigail Cameron," he read, "will be on the security detail for Macey McHenry, student at Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, until further notice."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey, all! Greetings from Hicktown, USA. I'm sorry if Zach seems OOC this chapter. I read and re-read it, and couldn't decide if it really seemed like _Zach _or not. Let me know what you think! :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and for everyone who's praying for the family of my classmate. God bless!**

* * *

I sat at the small desk in our dorm, pen in hand. _Okay, Goode. Just write. _Was I suffering from writer's block? Definitely not. In my personal opinion, writing is a waste of time (and yet, here I sit, writing this report. Ironic, isn't it?). All I needed to do was write down an address. And yet, as I gripped the pen, something was terrifying about the moment. Because at that moment, I was forcing myself to acknowledge that all that had happened, all that was going to happen, was real. I turned the postcard over again, looking at the shining red shoes on the front. _Maybe, years from now, we'll look back on this and laugh. Maybe we'll think that it's funny how we're friends, considering the circumstances. Maybe we'll get married and tell our kids about how we met at the Ruby Slipper exhibit in the Smithsonian. Every night before the kids go to bed they'll ask for a story, and we'll tell them about how the Circle was after her, how I _should _have been after them, and how we were just too smart for the Circle. We'll be the coolest parents. All our kids' friends will be jealous. _I shook my head. What was I thinking? Cammie and I getting _married?_ I sighed. This mess my mother had made was making me crazy. That's all there is to it. I turned the postcard over again and put the pen to the paper, writing out the words _Be careful. _I wrote out her name, and the address of the school, then put a stamp on it. I held the postcard in my hands, studying it, running my finger subconsciously up and down the smooth edge.

"What're you doing?" Jonas asked, and I jumped, giving myself a paper cut.

I shook my head. "Nothing."

Jonas raised his eyebrows, his gaze darting back and forth between the postcard and me. "Yeah," he said. "Nothing. Sure." He sat down on his bed, then sighed. "Zach, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," I said, confused by his question.

"Okay," he said, folding his hands. "At the risk of sounding offensive, what on earth are you doing here?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Zach, that girl is in trouble. If anyone can help her, it's you. Why are you still here?" There it was. The question I had been asking myself since I had arrived at Blackthorne. What was I doing there?

"I—" I stuttered, not sure how to answer. "I don't know," I admitted finally.

Jonas smiled a half-smile. "I think you should go. Right now."

I raised my eyebrows. "To Roseville?"

He shook his head, grabbing his laptop. "No. Not Roseville. Cleveland."

"Cleveland?" I asked, biting back a smile. Jonas always seemed to be one step ahead of the world.

He turned his laptop around so I could see the screen. "Yes. Cleveland. Rumor has it that a certain Joe Solomon is taking a certain Junior class to Cleveland, Ohio, to study the art of Covert Operations in high-risk areas. And because there is going to be a campaign rally for the Winters/McHenry party in Cleveland, that city is quite high-risk." The CIA website showed that Jonas was right – Joe was taking the girls to Cleveland. I grabbed my jacket. "Wait," Jonas called as I was about to the door. I turned back.

"Yes?" I asked, my hand on the doorknob.

"Say hi to Liz for me." I laughed and went out the door.

"Goode!" Dr. Steve called from down the hall. "Where're you going?"

I sighed. "Mission," I lied. "Joe contacted me. He needs me to meet him."

Dr. Steve nodded. "Alright," he said. "Any idea how long you'll be gone?"

I shook my head. "Can't say," I told him.

He put his hand on my shoulder, and looked into my eyes. "Okay, Zach," his grip tightened, and he seemed almost… nervous? "Just… be careful."

I nodded. "Yes, sir," I said. He released my shoulder, and I headed out the door, the postcard still in my pocket. My fingers brushed up against the paper as I put my hand in my pocket. I pulled it out, studied it again. "Be careful, Cammie," I whispered, then dropped it in the outgoing mail box at the end of the hall before going out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Everywhere I looked I saw people decked out in red, white, or blue. Everywhere I turned I heard the names "Macey" and "Preston" whispered. All around me, people were dying for a chance to lay their eyes on the two teenagers who should have been killed. I put my hand to my ear for just a second, adjusting the comms unit I had acquired for my trip to Cleveland (it doesn't really matter how I got it, so I'm not going to tell you…). "Delta team," A scratchy male voice said through the comms. "I don't like the looks of the guy on the library steps. I repeat, the library steps." Just then two girls my age about fifty feet to my right simultaneously turned, their gaze drifting to the library. They wore jeans and too-big "Winters/McHenry" t-shirts. They looked like they belonged where they were, but one's eyes darted just a little too quickly, taking in her surroundings, and the other's posture was slightly too perfect for someone who was at the rally solely to listen to politicians talk about empty promises. As Tina Walters and Anna Fetterman watched the man on the library steps pull out his cell phone, I thought how someday they were going to be very, very good operatives. I knew right then that Joe was proud of them.

My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the girl I had come to Cleveland for. Joe's voice broke over the comms unit again. "Four members of the Secret Service have infiltrated the protesters across the street, Ms. Fetterman," he said, and I saw Anna jump. "Identify the agents."

She licked her lips and took a deep breath. "Uh, Red backpack, lady in the blue Bandanna. The man in the yellow T-shirt, and…" She stopped.

"Anyone?" Joe asked.

"The guy with the long red beard." I jumped, not sure at first who had said that. Had _I _said that? Then I shook my head. No. It was a girl's voice. It was _Cammie's _voice. _Atta girl,_ I thought, as I finally saw her.

"Why?" Joe asked, no doubt wanting to know that Cammie was as good as he thought.

"The static," she answered, and I smiled. "Two and a half minutes ago there was a burst of static on the Secret Service frequency. He flinched." _How's that for an answer, Joe_?

Macey began climbing the steps to the stage, and a hush literally fell over the crowd. It seemed that every eye was glued on the McHenry girl, but I watched Cammie and Bex, as their best friend stepped up to the microphone. My gaze darter back and forth, between Macey and Cammie. Suddenly I couldn't just watch her – I had to really see her, to talk to her, to make sure she was alright.

To my right was a banner, proudly displaying , but I wasn't concerned about the website. Instead, I focused on the corner of the banner, that was loose, and blowing in the breeze. A chink in the armor, so to speak. Just big enough to slip through. I pulled my hat low over my eyes, then slipped through the crack. I didn't look back; for some reason, I knew she would see me. I knew she wouldn't be able to resist investigating, finding out who figured out the break in security. I stepped back into the shadows and counted. _One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. _Noiselessly, she slipped behind the banner, her gaze darting back and forth. I stepped from the shadows, gently put my hand on her shoulder.

Big mistake.

The next thing I knew I was flying through the air, then landing on the ground with a _pop_ (which I'm pretty sure was a balloon, but could very well have been my back breaking). The pain was worth it, though, to see the surprised look on her face as she pinned my shoulders down with her knees.

No, surprised isn't the right word. More like unbelief, astonished, and maybe a little bit of arrogance, all wrapped into one. I winked. "Hello, Gallagher Girl."

She stared down at me, that look still on her face, like she wasn't sure what to do with me. "Hey, Gallagher Girl," I finally said, "You gonna let me up now?"

She hesitated, then shifted her weight, and I began to sit up, but her hand shot out, pushing my chest back down. She leaned over me. "What are you doing here?"

I mentally cringed. That definitely wasn't what I expected. I was hoping for an _I missed you, Zach, _or _I'm so happy to see you. _I wouldn't have been surprised if she even said _Why didn't you write or call over the summer? I kept waiting to hear from you. _But no. She didn't say any of those. Of course not. She's a Gallagher girl. They don't beat around the bush with things like that. She got straight to the point – _What are you doing here?_

I stared at her, again wanting only to protect her, then smirked. She sighed. "I'm _very _interested in Ohio politics," I told her. She rolled her eyes.

"You can't vote," she told me as she got up, releasing the tension from my shoulders.

_Thank you for that observation, Sherlock. _"No, but I can campaign," I pointed to the Winters/McHenry button I had pinned to my jacket.

She arched an eyebrow. "You're a long way from Blackthorne," she observed.

I smiled. "Yeah, I heard that Macey McHenry was going to be making her first post-convention public appearance here today—" I stood up, then reached up to brush some confetti out of Cam's hair. "and where there's one Gallagher Girl, there are usually others."

She flushed. "We're like smoke and fire that way," she said, her voice breaking. _Hmm. So the infamous Cammie Morgan gets flustered by flattery. I'll have to remember that._

"Yeah," I agreed, smirking, "something like that."

The crowd cheered behind us, and she glanced behind her, but it didn't seem like she actually saw the thousands of people who had arrived to see Macey McHenry.

"I thought you'd vowed to stay out of secret passageways and laundry chutes," I joked, "but I guess…" I trailed off, reaching up and tracing the bruise along her hair line. She cringed when I touched the tender spot, but didn't back away.

Her eyes widened. ""How did you know about the laundry chute?" She asked. _Darn it, she's good._

I took a deep breath, then smiled and pointed to myself. "Spy."

The comms unit crackled, then Bex Baxter's voice came over. "Chameleon, I know you're being Chameleony," I stifled a laugh. Is _chameleony _a word? "but if you could wave or something, or tell me where you are, that would be great."

"Bleachers," Cam said.

"Bex?" I asked, hoping my comms unit wasn't noticeable.

"Yeah," she said.

"So you've got backup? The girls are here? And Solomon?" I had already seen them. I knew they were there. But I was still worried about her. I needed to hear from her that there were Gallagher Girls out there, girls who would risk their lives to protect their own kind.

"Of course they are," she said, as if it went without saying, which it sort of did, but still…

The comms cracked again. "Alpha team, there's movement under the bleachers," a female voice said.

Cammie's eyes locked with mine. "Zach, there's someone under—" I counted again, waiting until she realized who the Secret Service was talking about. _One Mississippi. Two Miss-_

"You!" An agent called, his red face blending with his red hair almost perfectly.

"Bye, Cam," I whispered, but I knew she didn't hear me. I slipped away from her, unnoticed by the Secret Service.

"Oh my gosh," I heard her say, and I smiled at how, well, _normal _she sounded. "I had to go to the bathroom so bad, so we—" She looked behind her, and her eyes widened.

"We?" The red-head asked. Cammie flushed again. I turned and left.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello, everybody! I was extremely bored today (little brother is gone today, and life's just not the same without him - don't tell him I said that :P ), so I wrote another chapter! I was going to wait until tomorrow to update, but decided to update again today. :) Hope you like it! Let me know what you think - I love getting reviews! Enjoy!**

**-Karsen**

* * *

You know, I would have paid a pretty penny to hear how, exactly, Cammie explained her way out of getting arrested by the Secret Service agent that day. As I was walking away, I tried to imagine the conversation:

"_No, really, sir, a friend of mine was with me." Cam would say._

"_Oh, really?" the agent would ask, not sure whether or not to believe a sixteen-year-old girl. "Where is he now?"_

"_Well, sir, I don't know, exactly."_

"_Well, miss, can you tell me how you got past the security guards in the first place?"_

"_Yes, sir. I'm an operative-in-training, and I could kill you with that popped red balloon right there seventeen different ways."_

"_Oh. In that case, you're free to go, miss."_

I highly, _highly _doubt the conversation went anything like that, but at that moment my mind was running at about a thousand miles an hour. I hailed a taxi, and had it take me to the nearest bus station, where I took a bus to the nearest train station, where I took a train as close to Blackthorne as possible, then took another taxi to another bus station, and another bus to the library ten miles from Blackthorne (I didn't exactly want to tell the city bus driver that I needed to return to the private detention facility north of town that I had recently run away from – I had a feeling that wouldn't go over too well). Needless to say, after a day and a half of traveling, I was back in the dorm room I shared with Grant and Jonas.

"Stop it," Jonas said, not taking his eyes off his laptop screen.

"Stop what?" I asked, genuinely confused as to what I was doing.

He stopped typing. "Zach, you _always _do this when you ask me to look something up for you."

"Do what?" I asked again.

Jonas took off his glasses and wiped them off on his shirt. Grant looked at me from across the room. "The red dog howls at midnight," he mouthed, and I laughed.

"You hovering," Jonas said, ignoring Grant for the moment. "You know I hate it when you read over my shoulder while I'm working."

I bit my lower lip to keep from laughing. Jonas was right – I did have a bad habit of hovering. I stepped back, putting my hands up in surrender. "Sorry," I said, then gestured to the computer. "Did you figure anything out yet?" I asked, changing the subject.

Jonas went back to the computer. "Macey is scheduled to meet her parents in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, two weeks from Saturday."

I sighed. At least Philadelphia was closer to Blackthorne than Cleveland was. "What about Joe? Does he have any plans to take the girls there?"

Jonas went to the Gallagher site. He licked his lips. "Not that I can tell," he said. "No. It's just a regular Saturday at Gallagher that day. No special field trips planned."

I sighed and put my head in my hands. "That's not good."

Grant stared at me. "Dude, didn't you hear Jonas? They're _not _going there. The Morgan girl is going to stay in that enormous mansion and do her nails or something dumb like that. She'll be fine."

"No, she won't." I said.

"Okay," Grant sighed. "Maybe she won't do her nails. Maybe she'll study, or hide in one of her secret passages, or go into Roseville to meet that cutie she dated at the beginning of last year."

I glared at him. "No, idiot," I said. "First of all, she's over jimmy,"

"josh," Jonas interjected.

"Whatever. Second of all, if Joe doesn't take them, she'll go herself."

Grant laughed. "No she won't."

Jonas sighed. "Yes, she will. Remember the CoveOps final last semester, Grant? The girls hijacked a school van and raided an old industrial complex because of a computer file."

Grant nodded. "So?"

"So," I concluded, "if they'd go to that extreme for a computer file, imagine what they'll do for a classmate of theirs."

Grant sighed. "And I guess this means you're going to be playing the hero again?"

I stared at him for a long time, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic or not, but nothing in his tone was satiric. He seemed serious, concerned.

I nodded. "Whatever it takes."


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello, everybody! Here's just a short, fun chapter. Hope you like it! Let me know what you think!**

**-Karsen**

* * *

Oh Zaaaach," Grant sang one morning while staring over Jonas's shoulder. "Might want to take a gander at this Secret Service update."

I grunted while completing push-up number two hundred thirty. "Really, Grant?" I asked. "I still have twenty push-ups to go."

Grant looked over at me. "Oh, let me help you." He walked over to me and proceeded to sit on my back. _Great. Two thirty-one. Two thirty-two. _"Come on, Goode, faster," Grant prodded. "The update has to do with a certain woman in your life." I jumped to my feet, forcing Grant to fall to the ground with a thud. "Ouch," he said.

I was too busy rushing to Jonas, however. "I swear, if my mother did anything—"

"Relax, lover boy," Grant called, still lying on the ground. "It's not about your mother. It's about the Morgan girl."

I froze. "Really?"

Jonas laughed, shaking his head. "Well, not directly. It's about the McHenry girl."

I leaned over the computer, reading the update. _Secret Service threat: Status: Anonymous. _"Threats have been made by Macey McHenry against Preston Winters."

"Did you know that, whenever you're reading something pertaining to Cammie, you read it aloud?"

I glanced at Jonas. "What?"

He shrugged. "Just an observation I've made."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. Scroll down; let's see what else it says."

"Yes, sir," Jonas said, scrolling down the screen.

_Don't read out loud, _I thought to myself. _Macey McHenry has been making personal death threats against the son of potential future president of the United States, Samuel Winters. She has promised to brutally slay him, to knock him out and tie him up and lock him in an underground bunker in Siberia, letting him slowly starve. She swears that the next time she is near him, she will send her high-heel through his throat. She claims…_ The list went on, but I stopped reading. I laughed.

"You know," Grant called from his position on the floor (what a drama queen), "death threats aren't usually something to laugh about."

I looked over at him. "Get off your butt and get over here – it's obvious these aren't legitimate. I'm guessing Cammie, Bex, and Liz hacked into the Secret Service website and posted these." I could picture it perfectly: Cammie coming up with the idea, Liz hacking into the website, Bex smiling as she came up with the numerous death threats. "The girls obviously don't want her to leave." I glanced at the screen. "I'm guessing the Secret service is not going to pay attention to these."

Grant looked at me. "Why?"

I stared at him. "Would you take death threats from a teenage girl seriously?"

He shrugged. "From a Gallagher Girl I would."

"Yes, but I doubt the Secret Service cares; after all, whenever the two of them are in public, they'll be flanked by bodyguards. There would never be a chance for Macey to send her high heel 'through Preston's throat.'"


	14. Chapter 14

"Are you sure about this, Zach?" Jonas asked, while checking the parachute hidden in my suit coat for what seemed to be the millionth time.

"Yes," I said, then stretched my arms out, testing the breathability of the jacket. It was snug, but not too tight. "I am absolutely sure."

Grant shook his head. "At least let us go with you."

"Sorry," I said. "In case something goes wrong, I have a better chance of not getting killed by the Circle than either of you do."

Jonas nodded. "He has a point, Grant."

Grant sighed. "I know, but you do know that infiltrating a politician's pep-rally could end badly, correct?"

I knew. Of course I did. But this was the life I had chosen.

No. It wasn't.

This was the life that had been given to me.

But that didn't deter me from accepting it, embracing it. Maybe, if I had, at some point in my life, had a glimpse of what normalcy was like, I would want it. But as it is, I've never known exactly what being "normal" means, and have never wanted to. When I really think about it, even if I _was _given a choice, I would have chosen this life.

I checked myself in the mirror for the last time, and Grant laughed. "Seriously, Zach," he said, punching my shoulder. "I cannot wait for you to actually look like this."

I laughed. "Next to waking up two feet shorter, this is my worst nightmare."

Jonas shrugged. "I don't know; I think wild white hair and big, bushy eyebrows is quite becoming on you."

"Do you have any idea how girly that sounded?" Grant asked, shuddering in mock horror.

"Oh, get over it," Jonas said, shoving Grant.

I took a deep breath, then checked my pocket to make sure I still had the invitation and my ID. "Okay, guys. I'm out of here. Cover for me during drills?" I pleaded, and the two nodded.

"Be careful," Jonas said as I walked out the door.

* * *

Turns out, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania is just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Blackthorne. Well, it's a little farther than that, but compared to Cleveland, it's nothing.

As I sat in a train, reading the New York Times (Macey's name was mentioned two hundred seventy-three times in that newspaper alone), I felt someone staring at me. I glanced up, using the window as a mirror to look behind me. A little boy, about four, was studying me. I looked back at him, and smiled.

He instantly turned red, then looked at the woman he was with – I would guess it was his mom – as if making sure she was engrossed enough in her book to notice if he left. He quietly slipped off his seat, then walked up to me. "Hi," he said, chewing on the knuckle of his left pointer finger.

"Hello, young man," I said, trying in earnest to embrace my disguise. "Where are you off to today?"

"I'm going to the zoo with Mommy," he said, giving me a toothy grin.

"Well that sounds like fun," I said. "What's your favorite animal?"

"Chameleons," he said, and I nearly choked. _How ironic._

"Oh really?" I asked. "Why?"

"Because they blend in," he said, his little hands making wild gestures while he talked. "No one sees them, even out in the open!"

"Ethan!" His face flushed with color as he looked back at his mother. She smiled at me. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "He's just such a social butterfly sometimes."

I laughed. "No trouble at all, ma'am," I told her, then stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Ethan," I said.

The boy took my hand, shaking it. "You too, mister." He turned and bounced back to his mother. She put her arm around him, kissing him on top of the head. I envied the little boy, who had a mother who loved him.

Suddenly the train slowed down. "Attention, passengers," an automated voice said over the intercom. "We are now pulling into Philadelphia Station. This is the last stop on the route, so all passengers must exit the train at this time."

I stood up, leaving the newspaper in the seat. I got off the train, then rushed to the other part of the station, where the rally was being held.

My eyes scanned the crowd, finally resting on a familiar face. Not Cammie's. Joe Solomon's.


	15. Chapter 15

"Oh, excuse me, sir," I said when I "accidentally" bumped into Joe.

He grasped my shoulders as if I were about to fall. "No, sir, that was all my fault." _Yeah. Highly trained operative runs into an old guy on accident. _Then recognition registers in his eyes. "Zach?" He asked.

I smiled, sticking out my hand. "In the flesh," I said while he grasped my hand and shook it.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, and I could tell he was dreading the answer.

"Why is Cammie here?" I asked, just as I saw her out of the corner of my eye.

Joe turned, his eyes widening. He took a deep breath and said… well, that doesn't matter. I'll only say that it was in Swahili. And I doubt he learned it at VBS.

"They were supposed to stay at Gallagher," he said.

I arched my eyebrow. "I sort of figured that when I saw her getup." In all honesty, I tried to not fall over when I saw Cammie's outfit, because let's face it – Cammie needs to wear that small black dress more often.

Joe stifled a laugh. "You know, considering what _you _look like right now, I wouldn't try to ask her out today."

I instinctively adjusted my tie. "Who knows?" I asked, hoping, _praying _that I wouldn't turn a very unattractive shade of crimson, which has been known to happen to me when Cammie's been mentioned before (as Grant likes to frequently point out). "Maybe she goes for older men."

Joe raised his eyebrows. "You know, I was very good friends with her father, and I promised him that if anything ever happened to him, I would take care of Rachel and Cam. And that includes keeping Cammie away from _old men._"

I laughed. Joe's gaze stayed on Cammie. "She has to get back to school," he said.

"Later," I told him. "Right now, we need to talk somewhere more," I looked over my shoulder. "Private."

He nodded towards one of the train tunnels. "She's in trouble, Joe," I said. "The Circle's after her. Not Macey."

Joe nodded. "I know. You told me. But still, we have to keep Macey protected, too. Why do you think we brought Agent Abigail Cameron in?"

I nodded, absentmindedly running a finger though my hair and upsetting my wig. "Just…" I paused. "Keep an eye on her, okay?"

He grasped my shoulder like a father would. "I will," he said, his eyes boring into mine. "I promise."

With that he turned and left. Just as his silhouette disappeared into the crowd, the train creaked and groaned, slowly stirring to life. I stepped on the train, not knowing where it was going, only knowing that I had to get out of that train station. Joe was there; Joe would take care of Cammie. I scanned the crowd as the train began slowly moving, then saw her. Cammie.

Cammie was coming.

Cammie was walking towards the train.

Cammie's gaze was fixed on…

_Me._

_Don't get on board,_ I pleaded. _Don't get on board. Don't get on board._ Of course, luck was not feeling like favoring me – in an assassin's life, in a spy's life, in pretty much _anyone's _life (except for those people who win the million-dollar jackpot – how can, out of all the numbers in the world, those people just happen to pick the sequence of winning numbers? Unbelievable.), luck is never very generous. Cammie jumped onto the train just before it left. I checked room after room, finally finding one empty. I locked the door. For some reason, I couldn't have Cammie find me. Maybe it was because I was afraid that my mother, or numerous other Circle members, were on the train, and if she was seen with me they would realize who she was. Maybe it was because I knew that I was destined for a life of crime (I knew what people said about me, about how the apple doesn't fall far from the tree…), and she was destined for a life of greatness, and the less impact I had on her, the less likely she would also turn to a life of crime (because, despite popular belief, even Gallagher Girls can be slightly swayed by peer pressure). Or maybe it was that I was having a "normal" moment – maybe my heart was racing simply out of the idea of seeing her again.

No. It was probably the my-mother-wants-to-kill-her or the I'll-probably-become-exactly-like-my-mother. It was definitely _not _the whole a-small-part-of-me-is-like-every-other-typical-teenage-boy-who-gets-butterflies-in-his-stomach-when-he-thinks-about-seeing-a-certain-girl. Nope. It was most certainly _not_ that.

My mind was so full of why I did not want to see the girl in the extremely short dress that was walking through the exact train I was on at that moment, I didn't hear the lock being picked until it was too late. I lunged for the door as it opened. I tried to grab Cammie, but she's a Gallagher Girl – she knows how to handle herself. She dodged my grasp, so I went for the next best thing – her hair (or, more specifically, her wig). The wig fell from her head, throwing her off guard temporarily.

My gaze darted from Cammie to the wig, as it hit me:

CAMMIE MORGAN WAS ON THE TRAIN! SHE WAS… HERE!

Suddenly, the whole stereotypical teenager with feelings seemed totally stupid.

Rage coursed through my veins.

"You aren't supposed to be here, Gallagher Girl." _Doesn't she see how dangerous this is?_

"You're telling me that _I _shouldn't be here?" She asked, not skipping a beat.

"It's dangerous," I told her, as if she didn't know. As if she didn't live with the knowledge that her life was going to be filled with danger every breathing moment.

"In case you haven't noticed, I can take care of myself," she said. I wanted to yell. I wanted to hit someone. I really wished Grant was there right then (because of the aforementioned wish to hit someone). But before I could tell her that she needed to sit still and spend the rest of her life being a simple housewife, with no worries whatsoever, the train lurched.

Have I ever mentioned how much karma has a sense of humor? And how much I appreciate it?

As I said, the train lurched, sending her stumbling into my arms.

She instantly began to pull away, but I tightened my grip on her. "Shhh," I warned as the train went momentarily silent. I looked down at her. Her eyes were big as they stared into mine. She looked so innocent, so vulnerable. For the millionth time since I had met her, I wanted to throw her over my shoulder, carry her to the nearest safe house, and leave her there with twenty years' worth of food supplies.

I must have been giving her a look that was a cross between the Hulk and Scrooge, because her eyes were filled with worry. I smiled, taking a deep breath. "Nice disguise," I told her.

Her eyes sparkled. "You too," she said, then licked her lips before adding "It looked even better in Boston."

She _had _seen me! For a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second (hardly any time at all – like a millisecond of a millisecond) I was, I don't know, excited, maybe, that she had seen me in Boston. But then it hit me – she had seen me in Boston. Which lead to the question: what else had she noticed? "Yeah, I—" I tried to explain, but luckily (haha! Luck decided to take pity on me!) someone knocked at the door.

"Here," I said, gesturing to the collapsible overhead sleeping bunk. Cammie gave me a puzzled look.

* * *

**Hahahahaha! I know, I know. Right now, you're all drawing a mug shot of what you think I look like so you can throw darts at my face. But I promise, scout's honor (not that I'm a scout, but still...) that next chapter _will_ have the in-the-bunk scene. I promise. And when I promise something, I never break that promise. Ever. (Sorry, Tangled moment... PM me if you get it). :)**

**Anyways, until then, enjoy the few remaining hours of the weekend, and summer (unless you're already in school; if so, I'm so sorry)!**

**Love always!**

**~Karsen**


	16. Chapter 16

**Here it is - the train car scene! Let me know what you think, because I'm not too sure about this one. If you have any suggestions on how to make it better, please let me know.**

**Also, special shout-out to TheWitchOfThe South, for noticing that I had put "Abigail Morgan" last chapter instead of "Abigail Cameron."**

**Enjoy!**

**~Karsen**

* * *

Who's got a key for this?" A gruff voice just outside the door asked. The door handle rattled. The hinges squeaked and groaned as the door opened, and there was the distinct sound of footsteps just below us.

Yes, I said below.

Because Cammie and I were no longer standing on the floor of the small room, but instead were locked in one of the collapsible bunks attached to the wall.

Let me repeat that, just in case you didn't catch that the first time: Cammie Morgan and I were locked in a collapsible train bunk, only about three feet wide, seven feet long, and two feet deep.

One more time: I was shut in an extremely tight space with CAMERON MORGAN.

But was I freaking out? No way. I was as cool as a cucumber.

On the outside, at least. On the inside, I was acting like a total (yes, I'll admit it) girl, freaking out about whether my breath smelled bad or not.

"What's going on, Zach?" Cammie whispered. _That's an excellent question. How did I end up here again? Not that I'm complaining._ She tried to move, but I tightened my grip around her waist, hoping she interpret that gesture as "don't move or talk, because we're three feet above being busted by the CIA."

Unfortunately, Joe must not have covered in CoveOps what to do when locked in a collapsible bunk on a train with someone of the opposite gender when there are Secret Service agents just below you. Not that that was covered at Blackthorne, either, but I was hoping that one day Joe would wake up and suddenly have an epiphany that the girls needed to know exactly what to do when in the situation that Cammie and I were currently in. No such luck (stupid luck). Cammie didn't interpret it that way. I don't think she even registered my grip on her had tightened.

"Macey," someone said from below, and from the way Cammie went deathly still, I guessed it was her aunt. "I don't want to argue about this anymore. Just wait in here."

The door opened and closed, and it sounded like someone left, but also like someone came in.

"You were in Boston, Zach," Cammie whispered. _Thank you, Captain Obvious._

"Shhh," I warned again, tightening my grip around her waist again.

Cammie sighed in frustration, and at that point I didn't care who she was; I sort of wanted to take off my tie and use it as a gag to keep her quiet.

But at the same time, I sort of wanted to kiss her.

Stupid hormones.

Suddenly someone else spoke. "You know," he said, and I instantly recognized the Winters boy's voice. "I've been told this is my best suit." Seriously? I had seen him earlier that day, and my first impression was that he looked like a drowned rat wearing a really expensive jacket.

"That's how you knew about the laundry chute," Cammie continued. "Why were you there, Zach?" There was no denying the desperation in her voice.

"Not now," I whispered.

"And don't say it was because we were in danger, because at the time we weren't in any danger." _Yes, you were,_ I wanted to shout. But there was something bigger at hand – she needed to be _quiet._

"You want to take a nap or something?" I whispered sarcastically. Translation: SHUT UP!

"Yeah, and while we're on the subject, why are you here?" She continued.

What is it with women always having to hear the sound of their own voice?

""I could ask the same thing of you, Gallagher Girl, except we should be shutting up now," I told her.

The silence hit her at the same time it hit me. But it wasn't completely silent; there was still something going on. It sounded like the most sickening scenes in those sappy chick-flicks: kissing.

_Lead us not into temptation,_ I thought to myself while trying to pretend that I didn't have the slightest clue what was going on just three feet below us. "What were you and Mr. Solomon talking about?" Cammie asked, seemingly unfazed by the fact that her best friend was in a lip lock with the drowned rat.

I twisted her around so she was facing me. I could feel her breath warm and even on my cheek. "You don't get it, do you? This is dangerous, Cammie. This is—"

"Yeah," she cut me off, her voice dripping with satire. "I kinda figured that out the day I woke up with a concussion."

"Don't make light of this," I said, almost not caring if we were heard at that point.

"What about 'concussion' is synonymous with 'making light'?"

"You. Shouldn't. Be. Here." Even as I said the words, I wasn't sure if I meant in the train car because she had snuck out of Gallagher, or alive because of the roof.

"You're here," she countered, her voice challenging, as if saying _tell me what you are that I'm not._

"Listen," I said, not wanting a fight, but realizing more and more that that was what it was turning out to be. "this is no place for…"

"A girl?" She taunted. "A student? What Zach?" The fight had gone out of her. By then my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could faintly make out her face, her eyes. She stared at me with such questioning. Al she wanted was answers, and I understood that. In that respect, we were alike.

"I'm someone who doesn't have anything to lose." It took me a moment to realize that I had actually said those words aloud. I reached up, running my finger along her cheek. I could see the wheels turning, the numerous questions she wanted to ask piling up, but she never got a chance to answer them.

It always amazes me that things like pickle jars are impossible to open, but things that are _supposed_ to stay closed, like collapsible bunks on train cars (just for an example) always open at the most inopportune times.

Like right then.

Suddenly Cammie and I were spilling out of the bunk, onto the floor of the train car. Cammie hit the ground first, and I tried to move, but there's not much control you have over where you land when you're falling six feet. So I landed on top of her.

And prayed that I hadn't killed her on impact.

"Well, this wasn't on my agenda," someone quipped. I looked up and saw the daughter of the potential future vice president staring down at us, a comical look on her face. I could almost hear her thinking _just wait 'til I tell Bex._

"Ms. McHenry!" A Secret Srvice agent shouted from the other side of the door. "Secret Service! Is everything okay?"

Of course. Can't risk the poster child for the upcoming election getting hurt in an almost completely empty train car.

Macey stared down at us, smiling, as if contemplating whether to say blow our cover or cover for us. _Just remember that Cammie's your sister,_ I thought, hoping she wouldn't rat out one of her best friends.

"Everything's fine," she said slowly. "I just knocked down a tray."

We heard the agent walk away, and only then did I feel like I could breathe again. I stood up, stretching.

"Hi, Zach," Macey said, dropping to the bench across from us and crossing her model-worthy legs.

"Hey, Macey," I said nonchalantly, trying to make her believe that this was just another ordinary experience in another ordinary day. "Sorry to drop in," my gaze shifted to Cammie. _Should I? No. But I'll say it anyway. _"but Cammie just had to be alone with me. You know how she gets."

She smacked my arm. I flinched, making a big deal out of rubbing my arm. "You know, you're going to hurt me one of these days, and then you're going to feel really bad about it."

"Yeah," she said, "well, maybe if you would be honest with me for one—"

_Not again_, I thought.

"Um, just so you know," Macey said very matter-of-factly, "Abby will be back in approximately two minutes, so you lovebirds might want to make this quick."

Okay. I've been called many, many names in my lifetime, but I have to say that Macey calling me a "lovebird" was a first.

"Thanks," I said (for the information, not the nickname). "This is my stop, anyway."

I looked out the window. _Oh great. We're still moving._

I pointed to the door. "Hey, McHenry, do you mind?"

She winked, then opened it, looking both ways. "Oh, officer," she sang, "Can I see your gun?" The officer turned around, and Cammie and I dashed to the door at the end of the car.

I turned to her. "Hey, Gallagher Girl," I said. "Promise me something." I reached up, gently touching the place where that nasty bruise had been on her head. "Be. Careful."

I opened the door, said a prayer, and spread my arms. I looked back at Cammie one more time.

And jumped.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi, guys! Here's the next chapter! This one is pretty short, but the next chapter will be longer, and more intense - I promise. So here's the challenge: I'll post the next chapter as soon as I get to 100 reviews, okay? Thanks for reading!**

**~Karsen**

* * *

The jump from the train didn't kill me, in case you were wondering. Granted, I hadn't exactly planned ahead, so the first time I actually thought about how I was going to land without becoming one with the train tracks was when I was in midair, but the important thing is I survived. Even though I totally biffed it while trying to land on my feet. And Joe saw. And laughed. A lot.

How he got there in time to see that is beyond me.

He put his hand on my shoulder. "Come on," he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Let's go back to my place."

Even though I had been there before, the words still made me want to laugh. _My place. _In my mind, Joe belonged at Blackthorne, or even Gallagher. He never struck me as a cabin-out-on-the-sticks type of guy. But I guess that's what makes him such a great operative. As we approached Joe's truck (I know, a truck? I guess it was to match the cabin), he tossed me the keys. "Taken driver's ed. at Blackthorne yet?" He teased.

Joe knew very well that, at Blackthorne, they don't believe in sitting you down in a classroom, pointing to a diagram, saying "this makes the wheels turn. This makes the windshield wipers work. This is the radio." Instead, they give you the keys to a car, and say "Okay, there's a bomb in the engine. It will deactivate when you reach a speed over 120 miles an hour. Drive down the highway, and don't let the car blow up."

I laughed. "Something like that," I said, getting in and starting the truck.

Joe leaned back and closed his eyes. "What are you doing?" I asked.

He opened one eye, peeking at me. "Going undercover is tiring work. I'm going to sleep. You've been there before. Figure out how to get there."

Typical Joe. He was always doing things like this. I smiled and started down the road, wondering if this was what it was like being normal. What were the people around us thinking? That we were just a father and son, enjoying some bonding time on the road? I glanced at Joe, knowing that, even though he was snoring in the passenger seat, he knew exactly how far we were from his cabin at that exact moment. "Thank you," I whispered, soft enough so that, even if he were awake, he wouldn't have heard me.

I pulled into the cabin just as the sun was dipping behind the mountain, painting everything golden. Joe sat up, then glanced at me. "Not bad, Goode," he said, checking his watch. "Not bad at all." He paused, then added, "of course, you could have cut seven minutes off the trip by taking the secret access road about a mile sooner."

"Isn't that the point of secret roads?" I asked, "For them to be secret?"

Joe just pointed to his head. "Notice things," he said, and I rolled my eyes. He pulled out his keys, opening the door to the cabin, then turned to me. "You can stay here tonight, but I suggest tomorrow that you get back to Blackthorne."

I sighed. "I know. But…" I trailed off. "But _she_ knows I'm there," I finally said.

"I know, Zach," Joe said. "But you have to face her eventually."

"I know," I agreed. "And I'm not… afraid… to face her, I just…" _Don't want to lose the woman I grew up calling 'Mommy?' Don't want to cut off my only family? Still love her? _No. A small part of me might have wanted my "old mom" back, but no part of me had any love for that woman. I hated her. "I hate her." I didn't realize I had spoken.

"I do, too," Joe said, which may have sounded weird, but it was exactly what I needed to hear. He slapped my back. "Get some sleep, Zach. You've got a long trip ahead of you tomorrow."


	18. Chapter 18

**Holy cats, you guys! 100 reviews in the SAME DAY?! You guys are truly amaizing. Here's the next chapter - a bit deeper than the usual. Hope you like it - it was a tough chapter to write, but not because of writer's block. I needed to get it perfect. Hopefully I got pretty close. **

**Thank you all for reading! It means a lot! **

**~Karsen**

* * *

"Goode!" Dr. Steve's voice reverberated down the long hallway.

I mentally cringed as I turned. Was I afraid of getting in trouble? Not at all. In fact, I wasn't worried about how livid Dr. Steve would be about my unexplained absence – I knew I could easily talk my way out of it. I was, however, worried that he was going to ask me to help him with one of the "exams." Whenever a newbie comes, he has to take an exam, which usually involves a lot of gunpowder, a couple tons of chicken feed, and, in one particular instance, asbestos insulation. That particular exam didn't end very well. I turned. "Yes, Dr. Steve?" I asked, hoping he merely wanted to know how my "trip" had been.

He looked worried. "Zachary, I was hoping you would be able to help me with an orientation assessment," _I knew it. _"But apparently you're wanted in room 151." He gulped. "Your mother is here."

There times in a person's life, in a teenager's life especially, when time seems to stand still, and you're the only one moving. It felt that way as I headed to the room where my mother was waiting. I got to the door and turned the nob, watched the door swing open before me. I expected to see guards, maybe some tied up prisoner, or the president of the Circle himself, whomever that was, but instead all I saw was… her.

"Zachary," Catherine said with a nod of her head. I had always known my mother was beautiful, but there was something different about the way she looked then. She didn't just look beautiful, she looked dangerous, deadly. I felt my hands go cold.

"Catherine," I greeted.

She arched an eyebrow. "First name basis, are we?" She shrugged. "Interesting. Whatever happened to the little boy who used to cling to my hand in public, and call me 'Mommy?'"

"Funny," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I was about to ask whatever happened to that woman who used to take me places, who used to be proud to show me to the world."

"That's not funny, Zachary," she warned, her eyes looking black like a snake's.

"I'm not laughing."

We stood there in silence, staring at each other, measuring each other up, trying to decide who would make the next move. Finally I broke the silence. "Was there a purpose to your visit? I need to get back to class."

"Zach," she shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Do you miss her? Do you miss that woman who used to, what did you say? Show you to the world?"

I paused. Say no, and she would call me a liar. Say yes, and I would look weak, like I could still be bought over by the Circle. "That depends," I finally said. "What part of the world were you planning on showing me to?"

"This is getting ridiculous, Zach." She had said _Zach,_ not _Zachary. _She always used _Zachary_ when she was being an agent of the Circle, but she saved _Zach_ for when she was being a mother. Right then, I really hated my name. "I know last time we saw each other, we both said…" she paused, ran her tongue over her lips before continuing. "Some things we regret, and I'm willing to put it all behind us."

"For what?" I was surprised by the strength of my voice. "Put it all behind us for what? What do I have to do?"

She put out her hand. "Did I ever show you my ring I got when I joined the Circle?" Yes, she had. Many times. "A ring is a perfect circle, with no beginning, no end."

"Hmm. That sounds vaguely familiar," I said. I snapped my fingers. "Wait, I've got it. I've heard that at weddings before!" I looked Catherine in the eyes. "I bet the pastor said the exact thing when you got married to _my father, _didn't he?"

I've delivered enough blows, thrown enough punches, to know when I've severely hurt my opponent. Watching the way she stepped back, the way her right hand went instantly to her left ring finger, where her wedding band most likely once was. "This has _nothing _to do with that man," she hissed. "This is about you. This is about me. And this is about the Circle. This is _not_ about _him._"

"Fine," I sighed. "Then tell me, why are you here?"

Her eyes flashed, and then a look came over her face. It was recognition, sorrow, and maybe… love? I knew then that, at times, she missed me, too. But we both had the same mindset – defeating the other was more important than being with them.

She looked down at the desk she was leaning against, her fingers brushing against the rough grain of the wood. "Zach, baby, listen to me. I don't want to fight. I want to be a family again." She looked up at me, and I could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. "Please, Zach?"

It was like a dream, but I knew that, unlike a dream, I wouldn't be able to wake up from this. No matter what I said right then, it would change my relationship with Catherine for the rest of my life. "I hate you." I hadn't realized my fists were clenched. I looked at the woman who had raised me, the woman who I had spent my entire childhood trying to please. "I hate you," I said again, louder. "You are not my mother."

She walked around the desk, so she was face to face with me. She was a good three inches shorter than me, but I knew that if she wanted, she could kill me. I also knew that, if she decided to try, I wouldn't go down without a fight. "Zachary Goode," she said, her voice dripping venom, "You do not know the enemy you have just made. You will _never _be accepted into the Circle. Never." With that she pushed past me, walked down the hallway, and out the door into the sunshine.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi, everyone! I'm trying my hardest to write a lot, and write fast - I am still on summer break, and, even though I did get one studyhall this year (which, honestly, I'm not very happy about, but that doesn't matter), I have a feeling I won't have as much time to write when my days are filled with tests and quizzes, projects and presentations. I would like to finish the story before going back, but I don't think that's going to happen.**

**Until then, hopefully you like this chapter - I do. Because, honestly, on a scale of 1-10, Zach being able to shoot (even though it's sorta creepy) is an 11 on the hottness scale. Enjoy! **

**~Karsen**

* * *

For three weeks, I stayed at Blackthorne, waiting.

Well, not just waiting. It was full of sit-ups, pull-ups, pushups, and any other type of up-exercise you can think of.

Every spare moment I had was spent on Jonas's computer, watching the Gallagher Academy website (the real version, not the version that the people of Roseville see when they want to know what really goes on behind the walls of that mansion north of their town).

Still, nothing of interest happened for three weeks.

One morning, right after sunrise drills, I couldn't take waiting anymore. "I'm going to the shooting range," I told Grant and Jonas, grabbing my jacket.

Grant stood up. "I'll come with you." He looked at Jonas. "You coming?"

Jonas stared at his computer, apparently not hearing Grant.

"The red dog howls at midnight," I said with a wink.

Jonas turned around. "You know," he said, "that's probably the dumbest phrase ever."

Grant shrugged. "So?" He asked, as if it didn't matter how dumb the phrase was.

Jonas glared at him. "No," he said. "I will not go to the shooting range."

"See ya later, then," I said, walking out the door. As soon as we stepped outside, the cold air hit us, reminding us that it was no longer summer. The leaves crunched beneath our feet as we walked, neither of caring whether we made noise or not. "I need to get out of here," I finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen on us.

"What do you mean?" Grant asked. "You've hardly been here all semester."

"Grant," I said, stopping and looking him in the eye. "You don't get it. My mother wants her. She knows something, and my mother wants it. And if my mother wants it," I lowered my voice, not knowing who else could be listening. "Then I want to make sure she never gets it."

Grant nodded. But then, he had to do something totally stupid, because Grant always has to do something stupid. I don't know why, he just does. "I still think that the only reason you're doing this is so you can see the Morgan girl."

"Yes, Grant," I said with a sigh. "I made everything about the Circle and Catherine up, just so I would have an excuse to creep on Cammie Morgan."

Grant laughed. "I knew it, you sly dog."

I shoved him. "I'll shoot you," I threatened as we reached the shooting range and I chose my gun.

Grant laughed, choosing a gun for himself. I turned off the safety, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Red liquid spilled out of the dummy about two hundred yards away, right over where the heart would be. "Nice shot," Grant said, before hitting the dummy next to the one I hit square in the eyes.

We shot in silence for a while. After about half an hour, I grabbed a different gun and backed up. 250 yards. 300. 350. 400. 450. 500. I stopped walking, took aim at the target I could barely see. Turn off the safety. Put my finger on the trigger. My heart rate was even, my hands as steady as they'd ever been. I shouldn't have been okay with holding such a powerful weapon; but I was.

"Zach!" Jonas's voice carried across the mountain just as I pulled the trigger. But did I startle at the sudden sound? Did I flinch?

Red liquid exploded across the dummy's chest. I lowered the gun. "What?" I asked.

His eyes were wide. "CoveOps trip," he whispered. "Into Roseville."

"When?" I asked. It was just a trip into town. It should have been fine. Joe was the best spy I knew; I trusted him to take care of her. But I wasn't going to risk taking any chances.

"Two days from now," he said, handing me a duffel bag. "I take it you're going to need someone to cover for you?"

I laughed, taking the bag. "You're the greatest, Jonas."

"Don't forget it," he warned, smiling.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hi, all! Crazy long chapter. Crazy week - school started, and I have been forced to admit that, whether I like it or not, my years with my friends are limited. So here's to school friendships that hopefully last well beyond high school! Enjoy!**

**~Karsen**

* * *

I walked through the streets of Roseville, trying desperately to not be noticed. Lately, however, it seemed like _everyone_ saw me, _everyone_ knew me as Zachary Goode, son of Catherine Goode, official black sheep of the Goode family. It was ridiculous, of course. I could count on one hand how many people that were in Roseville at that moment knew about my mother. Still, it seemed like everywhere I turned, I was getting strange glances from strangers. I wasn't sure whether to take those glances as _are you here on some business for _her_? _Or _why aren't you playing football tonight? _I really, really hoped it was the latter.

I also really, really wished I was playing football.

The roar of the crowd, the smell of popcorn and pizza, and the sound of the crash of football helmets against each other reminded me that, while Blackthorne's hand-to-hand combat training is state of the art, it would be a lie to say its football program is state of the art (it would be a lie to also say its football program exists…). I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the winter break I had gone to Grant's house. His mother had welcomed me with opened arms, regardless of the fact that she truly thought I attended a private detention center. It had been as all-American as apple pie, with carols around the grand piano, chestnuts roasted in the fire, and a game of football on New Year's morning in the snow. It had been great, but even at the end of the week I felt out of place, knowing I would never belong there.

I saw Joe out of the corner of my eye, making a beeline towards me. "Zach," he said with a nod of his head. His voice sounded different, somehow. More shallow. More… worried?

"What?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"It's nothing," he said, his hands in his pockets.

"Tell me."

He sighed. "You didn't have to come. She's not here."

A million thoughts ran through my head. "What do you mean, she's not here? I didn't see anything on the CIA website. Has she been taken?"

Joe laughed. "Calm down, Zach," he said, a hand on my shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't mean she's not here, I meant she's not _here._" He pointed to the ground as he spoke. "She's been…" he trailed off, suppressing a smile. Finally he laughed. "Zach, let me tell you, Rachel was _livid_ when she found out about their last trip. She's grounded Cam to the mansion until further notice."

I bit my lip. "Ooh," I said. "That's brutal."

He nodded. "She deserved it, though," he said in all seriousness. "Sneaking out, not trusting the people protecting her friend." He stared at me. "A lot like someone else I knew."

The wind shifted, and I could feel the color rushing to my face. I took a deep breath. "I just missed Roseville, is all," I said with a shrug. "Lots of scenery I didn't get to see on my first trip."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Sure. Whatever." He paused, then put a hand to his ear, his gaze still locked on me. "Miss Walters, the woman behind you is wearing a sweatshirt with the number 79 on it. What's the name of number 79 on Roseville's team?"

He waited a moment, then nodded. He looked back at me. "You know, she could have a program and have just checked," I said, but Joe shook his head, pointing to a girl who had yet to enter the football stadium – hadn't even reached the place to pick up programs yet.

I shrugged.

"Enjoy your sightseeing," Joe said with a wink, then walked away from me.

Behind me, the band started playing. I turned and saw a stage with five girls sitting on it, each wearing a crown. _Homecoming_. I laughed, wondering what the Gallagher girls were thinking of this public-school ritual. I moved toward the concession stand, really craving a giant pretzel with lots of salt when a boy ran into me. He was about my age, and looked like… a pipsqueak.

jimmy (still not capitalizing his name).

He looked at me, puzzlement written all over his face. "Zach, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, smiling.

He shifted uncomfortably. "What are you doing in Roseville?" I'm sure he wanted it to sound friendly, but it sounded more like "why on earth are you invading my home town?"

"Visiting," I said, the lie coming easily.

"Oh," he said, staring at the concession stand, the ground, anywhere but at me. "But don't you go to private school?"

I nodded. "We have a long weekend," I told him. "Our teachers have to go to the NPSC every year…"

"NPSC?" he asked. _Oh, jimmy. At least pretend you know what I'm talking about. Even if I don't._

"National Prep School Conference," I said, making it up on the spot. "Teachers from the best prep schools go there, and it's this weekend in D.C. My father is the social studies teacher, and he's, of course, at the conference, so I had him drop me off here." _And the academy award for best teenage actor goes to…_

"Oh. Okay." jimmy shrugged. "So I take it you've seen Cammie?"

"Yes," I said.

Just then the girl in pink came up. "Here, josh," she said, handing him a coke. _What kind of a moron makes his girlfriend get him a soda?_ I wanted to punch him there and now, but jimmy was already walking away, and as I looked up, another girl was already following him.

My stomach lurched. Cammie didn't even _see_ me. Her gaze was fixed on… him. As she walked by I grabbed her. "What are you doing here, Gallagher Girl?"

"CoveOps assignment," she quipped. If I hadn't known better, I would have believed her. "You?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to leave school."

She sucked in her breath. "Yeah, because you're so into sticking around campus these days." She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair. "Seriously, Zach, do you ever stay at Blackthorne?"

I glanced back at Joe, whose back was to us. "I had a feeling you might try something like this," I said, because as soon as Joe had told me about her new arrangement, I knew she would do something stupid. I should have told her that the Circle could have been there right then. I should have told her that she wasn't safe anywhere. Instead, I asked the question that surprised even me. "Just tell me you didn't do this to see jimmy."

"josh," she corrected. She smiled, but I knew that she realized that this wasn't fun and games anymore.

She reached her hand out toward mine, then stopped, as if she were afraid to touch me. "Why were you in Boston, Zach? Why are you here, Zach?"

I wanted to tell her, but I saw the place where Cammie had been standing, and finally put two and two together. The girl she had been standing by… was Macey McHenry.

I grabbed her hand, pulling her after me. "Come on," I said, not even attempting to mask how mad I was. "We're taking Macey home."

She jerked her hand out of mine, folding her arms across her chest. "_We're_ not doing anything."

I turned toward the flagpole, where her CoveOps teacher was still standing. "Fine," I said with a shrug. "I'll go find Solomon, get his opinion."

"Zach," Cammie pleaded, stepping in front of me.

I gripped her shoulders (and maybe gave her a little shake, too, but she's a Gallagher girl; she can handle it). "Do you even know who's out there? Do you even care?"

"The Circle of Cavan is after my sisterhood, Zach. Not yours." _But they're still after me. _"They're hunting my friends." _They're hunting you. They're hunting me. _"They're sending Gallagher Girls down laundry chutes," _They'd do worse to you and me if they got ahold of either of us._ "So don't show up here and lecture me about what's at stake." I sucked in, trying to form my argument, but she beat me to it. "If Ioseph Cavan's followers want to settle the score with Gillian Gallagher's great-great-grand-daughter, then they're going to deal with all of us, and that doesn't necessarily include you." _But it DOES! _I wanted to shout. _More than you'll ever know_. But one thing Joe has taught me is that words are powerful, both the ones you say and the ones you don't. Right then, I knew it was best to keep my mouth shut. Cammie stepped towards me, her eyes wide. Her voice was barely a whisper when she asked "Why do I feel like I can't trust you anymore?"

"Because the Gallagher Academy doesn't admit fools."

It would have been almost funny, seeing two girls with equally hurt expressions on their faces, almost mirroring each other. Almost. If one of those girls wasn't Cammie Morgan. And the other wasn't Macey McHenry. "The family tie to Roseville," Macey said, staring off into the distance.

"Macey," Cam said, reaching for her friend.

Macey pulled away. "Does this mean…" she trailed off, tears forming in her eyes. "You knew about this?" she finally asked. I felt like I wasn't really there, but was watching from a distance. "How long have you known about this?"

Cammie licked her lips, took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched her fist. Everything about her body language seemed to be avoiding the question, but her eyes were fixed on Macey. "Yeah, my mom told us last—"

"Us!" Macey cut in. "Does the whole school know?" She was borderline hysteric.

"No!" Cammie quickly corrected. "Just Bex and Liz and me. Mom explained all that after you got accepted. She—"

"So I'm Gillian Gallagher's descendant? So that's why they let me in."

"Macey," Cammie cut in, "it's not—"

"True?" Macey asked, and I knew she had a point. There wasn't any other reason Gallagher would have accepted her. Then Macey McHenry, Gallagher Girl, turned and ran.

"Macey," Cam called, but I grabbed her hand.

"Cam—"

"Not now, Zach," she snapped, jerking her hand away. She dashed off, and I knew that I had let both of them get away.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hi, everyone! I have some exciting news (for me, at least): I finished Family Feud today, and have started the next one! I'll have the rest of this one up by the end of the week, and hopefully by next week I'll publish the next one! Until then, enjoy! **

**~Karsen**

* * *

"_So I'm Gillian Gallagher's descendant? So that's why they let me in."_

"_Macey," Cammie cut in, "it's not—"_

"_True?" Macey asked, and I knew she had a point. There wasn't any other reason Gallagher would have accepted her. Then Macey McHenry, Gallagher Girl, turned and ran._

"_Macey," Cam called, but I grabbed her hand._

"_Cam—"_

"_Not now, Zach," she snapped, jerking her hand away. She dashed off, and I knew that I had let both of them get away._

* * *

EXCUSES TO USE TO AVOID BEING KILLED BY THE ONE MAN WHO WAS EVER EVEN REMOTELY CLOSE TO BEING YOUR FATHER

A list by Zachary Goode

Ignorance – "What? She's _gone?_ Honestly, Joe, I had no idea. I didn't even _see_ her – you know how she blends in, all chameleon-y. I had _no idea _she was there."

Brainwashing – "Yes, Joe, I know she's gone – my mother brainwashed me to tell her to run away, and I couldn't control it!"

Heart attack – "What? She's gone? No, that's not – oh! My heart! Joe, I'm having a heart attack!" _pass out right here._

Blubblering – "I – _sob – _I'm so – _sob – _sorry. I let – _sob – _her get away."

Don't avoid it - "Joe, I know you're going to kill me, because I should have told you that Macey ran, but please, please, PLEASE do it fast. That's all I ask."

I wanted to kill someone. And, when you think about it, that's sort of a scary thought, considering my educational history. Jonas's voice was shaking a couple mornings later when I called him from the hotel phone (before you say that I'm lying about this part, I need to clarify something: we _do _have our own phone line… somewhat. It's a long story that involves one particularly long blizzard three years ago, a pair of tweezers, three AA batteries, an old stereo, and 300 yards of fishing wire). I figured Macey would run back to the mansion, and Cammie would find her, and they would have a girly cry-fest, and tell each other they loved each other, and hug each other, and go through about 12 boxes of Kleenex and twice as many packages of Oreos. But instead she didn't come back. I had stayed at the hotel, pacing back and forth in the room, downing cup after cup of coffee (which I don't even like), throwing wads of paper into the trash can (my record was 347 made baskets in a row from the opposite side of the room), doing anything to keep my mind off of the situation at hand. Joe had told me to trust him, but when Jonas called, I had trusted long enough.

"What?" I asked. I was totally confused.

"Cammie," he said. "I intercepted a call. Cammie, Liz, and the Baxter girl are gone, too." He paused, took a deep breath. "They're gone."

I picked up the nearest object (which happened to be an alarm clock) and threw it across the room (unfortunately, it didn't do nearly as much damage as I was hoping, because it was plugged in, and the process of unplugging itself took away a lot of momentum). "I should have known," I said. "What do I do?"

The human mind is a strange thing. Only when people are at their weakest do they ask for guidance, and right then I felt like I couldn't even hold up the phone. "Well," Jonas said slowly, "I'll keep watching the phone lines. You just…" he trailed off.

"Stay there." Grant's voice was firm, strong, so different from Jonas's at the moment. "Don't go anywhere. We can't have you MIA, too. Your mom would love to find you on your own with no backup."

"But _they_ don't have backup," I argued.

"They have each other," Grant countered. He paused. "Get to the D.C. campaign rally. Something might come up."

I hung up, shaking my head. _Cammie, you idiot, _I wanted to scream. I kept kicking myself for not kidnapping her myself when I first thought to. Then, at least, she'd be safe.

And I'd see her more often.

But, more importantly, she'd be safe. With me.

The taxi ride to D.C. seemed to last forever, but I got there hours before the rally even started. I headed to the nearest payphone and dialed Joe's number. "They're okay," he said right when he picked up.

"How'd you know it's me?" I asked. "That wasn't very covert of you, saying something to a number you didn't know."

Joe laughed. "Zachary Goode, as much as your argument is a good one, you're just going to trust that I'm better."

I groaned. "But they're okay?" I asked.

"I told you to trust me, didn't I?"

"Yeah," I argued. "I tried that, and she ran away. What happened?"

Joe laughed. "Is that phone secure?"

My shoulders slouched. "No," I mumbled.

"Then just know that they're okay, and you'll see them in a couple of hours."

"How'd you know I was in D.C.?" I asked.

Joe's laugh filled the phone, and I couldn't help smiling at the sound. "Spy," he said, and at that moment all doubt I ever had about Joe being the best spy on earth went away, because he _knew my catchphrase!_ I wanted to be mad for his stealing my single-favorite line, but I was too impressed. "Okay, Joe," I said. "Bye."


	22. Chapter 22

**One more chapter after this one, guys! I know this isn't my first story, but I still get that thrill of writing the last words down, knowing it's finished. Does anyone else agree? Hope you like it!**

**~Karsen**

* * *

The party was unlike any other I'd ever seen. There was music and dancing, the best food money can buy, and to top it all off, just fifty feet from me was a girl who I was sure my mother had killed, tortured, captured, and tortured again (not necessarily in that order). She was in an apparently deep conversation with her roommates, but then Macey looked over at me, winked, and walked away. The next thing I knew Cammie was standing next to me.

""I heard someone's playing hooky," I said, not wanting her to think I was in any way worried.

"There's a boy in my life," she said, and for a moment I wanted to find that boy and, oh, I don't know… punch his brains out. "He's a very bad influence." _Bad influence? Why the heck is she still with him… oh._ Needless to say, when it finally dawned on me that I was the aforementioned boy, I felt slightly stupid.

I nodded. "Bad boys have a way of doing that." I leaned in close to her, and whispered "but they're worth it."

She blushed, and I grabbed her hand. "Can I talk to you?" I lead her to the door, and we stepped out into the quiet alley. She shivered, and I instinctively took off my jacket, draping it on her shoulders. My hands stayed on her shoulders for a while, and I thought _Okay. She's real. I'm not hallucinating. She's actually real._

"Why were you in Boston?" She blurted. Her eyes were wide, her expression saying that she was sick of not getting the answers she wanted.

"There are things I can't tell you, Gallagher Girl."

"Can't? Or won't?"

_Both_, I wanted to say, but I knew there was no good way to explain that answer, so I just stayed quiet. "Tell me," she said, her voice barely a whisper as she looked down at the ground.

"There are some things you don't want to know." I'm not sure what she was going to say next, but she never got to say it, because Macey was stepping into the alley, calling to her, and a van was barreling towards them.

"Macey!" Cammie yelled, sprinting away from me. "Run!" The van was getting closer to Macey, but I knew they wouldn't stop there. They drove right past her, stopping instead in front of Cam.

"Cammie!" I don't know if I yelled her name or not, but it was the only word I could think. Bex ran towards her, calling to her, but Cammie was in some sort of trance, it seemed.

"Macey," she kept yelling. "Save Macey!"

I ran towards the van, hoping to get there before anyone could get out, but someone was already there, grabbing Cam. She kicked, freeing herself for the moment, but then she fell. That was all the attacker needed. He dove on her, pinning her to the ground. He pushed a rag to her mouth just as I got there. I grabbed him, pulling him off her, but he was good. He was trained. With one spin, he was free of my grip. Just as he grabbed Cam again, she reared back, sending a fist flying into his nose. Macey was running towards Cam, but Cammie seemed anything but happy when she saw her roommate.

"No!" The words were too late. The alleyway lit up for a fraction of a second as the bullet exploded from the gun one man was holding. Instead of Macey falling, Abby jumped in front of the daughter of the potential vice president, then collapsed to the ground.

"Get her out of here!" I recognized the voice, but the tone was all wrong. Joe was never scared. Joe always had a solution. Joe always knew a way out.

Joe was never scared.

"Cam," I said, grabbing Cammie, even as she spun and kicked. "Gallagher Girl." She froze for a second, long enough for me to grab her hand. Long enough for me to say one word: "Run."

Cammie looked over at her aunt, motionless on the ground in a pool of blood. "Abby," she said, but I gripped her hand tighter.

The van revved behind us. There were more shots, and I stopped. A man was in front of me. Bryce, the man my mother had been speaking to months ago, the man who questioned whether I could be trusted. He pulled out a gun, but then he saw me. He paused for a moment. His eyes searched mine, looked down at my hand, which was still gripping Cammie's. He looked at my face again. "You?"

Secret Service grabbed him, and grabbed Cammie. My jacket lay on the ground, covered in blood – Abby's blood. But I wasn't panicking. No one was – not the doctors that took Abby away, not Macey, not Joe, not Headmistress Morgan. They were safe. Abby was hurt, but they were safe.


	23. Chapter 23

"You saved her, you know." Joe gripped my shoulder. He glanced out at the lake, at the water that was as smooth as glass.

"I know." I leaned back against the rough wall of the cabin. "I should be gone."

"Zach," Joe said, reaching behind him as he spoke. "Don't worry about what should have happened. There are a lot of things that _should have happened _to me." His eyes got a faraway look in them. For not the first time I wanted to ask him what he had seen, what he had done. His gaze shifted to mine. "Things are getting more serious, Zach. This isn't like the CoveOps final you took at Gallagher. People's lives are in danger."

"I know," I said, which was stupid. Joe knew that I knew.

"Just, promise me something," he said, his gaze getting more intense by the minute. "No matter what happens, always trust me, okay?" I nodded. "Seriously, Zach. And if anything happens…" he trailed off, his gaze shifting back to the lake.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Do you remember when I told you to write it down? Whatever happens to you, write it down." I did remember. He told me right when we got to Gallagher.

"Yeah," I nodded. "You said that's what you did."

Joe nodded. "Write it down." It seemed like he was talking to himself more than to me. "Because when you're confused, you can look back, and things will start to make sense." He gripped my shoulder again, tighter this time. "I wrote it down. And you might, someday, need to read it."

I shook my head. "Joe, I don't understand."

He grabbed my jacket from behind him, handing it to me. "Zach, listen to me. I kept a journal at Blackthorne. If anything ever happens, you need to read it. And Cammie," he hadn't let go of the jacket. "Matt wrote a journal. She needs to read his. Mine is in the tombs." I shivered. No one liked the tombs. "Matt's is in the Subs. If _anything _happens, promise me you'll read them."

I nodded. "I promise."

He let go of the jacket. "Good." He got up. "I need to get back to Gallagher."

"Just a second," I said, grabbing a scrap of paper off Joe's table and a pencil, scribbling a message then shoving it into the pocket of the jacket. "It's Cam's," I said, and Joe rolled his eyes.

"Zach," he called as he went out the door. "Do you have plans for Christmas?"

I shook my head. "I don't think Catherine wants to get together on Christmas Eve for dinner and church, if that's what you're asking."

Joe laughed. "How about you meet me in London?"

I smiled. "Sure," I said. He winked, then was gone.

* * *

**Hey, guys! Here's the end! I can't even begin to tell you how wonderful and amazing you all are. I never DREAMED I'd get so many reviews on one story! I thought of saying "reviewer number (insert number here) gets a sneak preview of the next story," but you ALL deserve a sneak preview, so without further ado, here is the beginning to the next story (title to come later – as soon as I think of one other than _Only the Good(e) Spy Young – Zach's POV of GG4_). Hope you like it!**

Joe once told me to write it all down. Everything that happened to me, I should write down. He said that, if I did, when things seemed confusing, I could go back, read what I had written, and maybe find some clues there. Maybe, in the midst of chaos, I could find order.

I've tried. I've gone back and dissected the journal I started when I first went to Gallagher. I've read it over and over, looking for any clue, but I'm just more confused. There's only one thing I'm sure of:

It's all my fault.

Cammie's gone, and it's all my fault.

But Joe would want me to write it down even now. If he could, he would tell me to use my head, and recap everything that happened this semester.

But he can't. I've never felt so alone in my life.


End file.
